Meant to Rule This World
by Dio Black
Summary: Voldemort was the kind of man who firmly believed in redundancies. It's why he made more than one Horcrux after all. He's also not the type to put all his eggs in one basket. To that end, he performed a ritual allowing him to reincarnate. Too bad he didn't account for multiverse theory. Harem, Lemons.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto.**

 **Warning: This story will contain adult situations and language.**

 **Meant to Rule This World**

 **Chapter 1**

Voldemort, the greatest Dark Lord of the century, (and in all of history in his not so humble opinion), basked in the moment; breathing in the scent of fresh rain that was just beginning to fall from the gray clouds above.

This was what he had been waiting for, what he fought for, what he endured one set back after another for. All of this so he could stand victorious in his conquest of Magical Briton.

The unnaturally pale Dark Lord took in the terrified and tear streaked faces of those he conquered. He observed the remaining teachers, adults, and even the brave yet oh so foolish students, children really, who had fought back against him and his followers this day.

They didn't understand. Ever since he was a child, even before he'd cast off his birth name and became Voldemort, he had a vision. He dreamed of a magical utopia in where all those of magical blood held their rightful place in the world. All of which stemmed from his earliest memories in that cursed orphanage.

It was there that he learned how the strong rule the weak; his first experience with this was being bullied by the older and bigger kids. But it wasn't long before he discovered all on his own that he had power, power that no one else he knew of at the time could match. And while he didn't know for sure what it was when he made the other children hurt who had wronged him, he had his suspicions. Eventually, in the summer after his eleventh birthday, a young Tom Riddle finally had confirmation of his strange abilities in the form of Albus Dumbledore.

He had magic. He was a wizard.

At the time, Dumbledore was the Transfiguration Professor at a magical institute called Hogwarts. Yet the first introduction Voldemort had to this new and wonderful world he belonged to was marred by the professor's misguided meddling.

Dumbledore, in an effort to preemptively curb Tom's behavior, used an illusion charm to make it appear as though the young boy's closet burst into flames, destroying all of his worldly possessions, all of the toys and trophies he'd stolen from the other orphans became nothing but ash with just the wave of this old wizard's wand.

It should be noted that Albus' intentions weren't malevolent, but an honest attempt to impart the lesson that stealing is wrong. Because if Tom didn't like having someone take things away from him, then the kids that Tom had stolen from felt that same emotion.

Unfortunately, this would have the opposite effect on the young boy. All the demonstration did was solidify Tom's view of the world. That the strong rule the weak. In fact, the only thing that changed was opening his eyes to a new idea. This old professor and him shared the same kind of power, the power of magic. So then the question for him became weather or not he would seek it. To someone who'd lived Tom's life, the answer was obvious.

Probably the biggest mistake Dumbledore made on that day wasn't the fact that he tried to scare the child straight, but that he used legilimency, the magical art of delving into and interpreting someones thoughts or 'mind reading' to find Tom Riddle's deepest, darkest secrets. Tom wasn't a fool, he'd grown up exceptionally fast, as many orphans do. So he knew exactly what Professor Dumbledore must have done to know about his interactions with the other children and where he hid his trophies.

It could be argued that this, more than anything, is what fueled his insatiable drive to obtain more knowledge and power. For if a respected and responsible teacher is willing to violate the privacy of an eleven year old's mind just to get a sense of who he is, what would someone more devious or treacherous do?

In the end, those with power can do what they want. This was Voldemort's truth, and what lead him to here and now.

With Dumbledore and Potter dead, the will of the defenders had finally broken. This point was driven home when Hagrid, the half giant groundskeeper, had retrieved Harry's corpse from where they left it in the forbidden forest. And when Narcissa Malfoy, the wife of a trusted death eater and sister to another confirmed that their hero no longer drew breath; Voldemort couldn't help but sigh in contentment and let a genuine smile slip onto his face. It was a good day.

He inhaled a steadying breath to give a speech to all those gathered here to reassure them that now that the fighting was over, they could begin rebuilding and look forward to their new lives under his rule.

Before he could start however, a hush fell over the crowed. Voldemort noticed something off then, a look of hope in their eyes that he knew very well they wouldn't attribute to him just yet.

'Nooo.' He thought to himself, slowly turning his head in the direction that everyone else was looking.

'No, no, no.' There Harry was. The one who was his prophesied equal whose blazing green eyes locked onto his red ones with a renewed life.

'NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!' The Dark Lord internally denied.

Hagrid stepped back once Harry regained his feet allowing him to stand on his own.

"It's not over yet Voldemort." He declared boldly.

"Potter!" The Dark Lord snarled in anger. It was the only emotion he could feel at the moment muting anything else.

He was near incandescent with rage at this unexpected, and most certainly unwelcome situation. He was truly upset that Potter just _wouldn't_ stay down and stop being an annoyance in his life.

It was because of this blinding anger that he didn't bother with any 'how's' or 'why's'. Instead he let loose his frustration by channeling his anger into furiously denying this person's right to live.

"Avada Kedavera!" He shouted falling back on his most efficient, default spell.

The bright green light caused an aura of dread that spoke of extinguishing life to all who where near flew unerringly at the unflinching boy.

"Expelliarmus!" Was Harry's retort as the brilliant red of the disarming charm sprung from his wand in retaliation.

Voldemort's thoughts were a whirlwind as his enhanced reflexes kicked in and his perception of time slowed, supremely confident in his incipient victory.

And why shouldn't he be confident?

Harry didn't bother to try throwing up a physical barrier to intercept his curse that could freely pass through any magical shield, nor was he tensed to dodge; all the while Voldemort was already prepared to swat away his adversaries spell, if it didn't lose cohesion passing so close to his own that is.

'How did he resurrect himself from the killing curse? I had to perform a ritual to split my soul for immortality, among other things; yet he just gets up and dusts himself off like it's nothing!' The Dark Lord mentally ranted at the unfairness of it.

'Actually, maybe it's some kind of special case with this curse in particular? I'd rather not find out if third times the charm, so I think a little fiendfyre to erase any trace of him after this is in order.' He wouldn't be able to parade Potter's corpse around Hogsmeade, the Ministry of Magic, and Diagon Alley afterwards, but Voldemort felt it prudent to not take any more chances.

Any other thoughts on the matter were brought to an abrupt and violent halt as instead of Harry's spell being dispersed, or the spells passing each other like two ships in the night; they collided instead, and connected in an all too familiar way.

Phoenix song sprang fourth from nowhere as their spells changed into a solid gold light with a visible bulge of power at the center between them.

"How is this possible!?" Voldemort grit out as he pushed power into the connection trying to push the flow towards his enemy to overwhelm him.

"You're not the master of the Elder Wand Riddle, I am!" Harry revealed.

While Voldemort was glad to know that little tidbit of information even though he wasn't expecting an answer, it still didn't adequately explain what the actual fuck was going on.

As far as he knew, the only reason Potter and himself had been in this situation the last time was because they had brother wands; wands that shared a core given from the same creature at the same time. That was a major contributing reason for why he went out of his way to get the Elder Wand in the first place. Besides the inherent power up that only someone of his stature deserves; it should have negated _this exact problem_!

Potter didn't even have his old wand anymore! And if that wasn't enough, the so called 'Chosen One' surrendered and was struck down by him! Harry's claim of being the master of the wand currently in Voldemort's hands should by all rights be null and void.

Unknown to the Dark Lord however, the wand sensed his thoughts about it's allegiance being in question. The strain put on it caused hairline, almost unnoticeable fractures to spread along it in a shape reminiscent of a spiderweb because of the Dark Lord's conviction.

The bead of power in the connection was inching closer and closer to Harry, and the Dark Lord's final victory seemed all but assured.

But then tragedy struck.

Nagini, the large and deadly snake that was Voldemort's familiar and horcrux, a container for a piece of his soul anchoring him to this world, lunged at Harry's back with the intent to cause harm and distract him long enough for its master to prevail.

The-Boy-Who-Lived wasn't without allies of his own however. Harry's savior took the shape of Neville Longbottom, his longtime friend and fellow housemate, wielding the sword of Gryffindor. Neville intercepted the serpent and cleaved the head from its body with a well placed swing.

"NOOOO!" Voldemort's voice erupted in white hot rage at the death of his companion and the loss of a shard of his soul.

This distraction cost him dearly as his concentration wavered. Harry ruthlessly took advantage of the opening and forced as much of his will and magic into sending the connection between their wands to the Dark Lord's direction causing a powerful magical backlash.

Voldemort grunted in pain as the powerful energies shattered the wand in his hand and proceeded to rip into his body.

He drew in ragged, heavy breaths as he sank to his knees in resignation. He lost. The greatest Dark Lord snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.

Already he could feel his body failing him, the magic that constructed it destabilized and crumbling. He didn't have long to dwell on what he could do. In a glance he took in his surroundings and saw that the defenders had rallied while Potter and he had their duel. Some of his followers were dead while the rest were unconscious or disarmed.

But before he could gather his thoughts, Potter's voice grabbed his attention.

"Now it's over Tom. All of your horcruxes are gone. The diary, the ring, locket, diadem, cup, your snake… and me." He punctuated the last one by pointing to his scar.

Ah. So that was it. That at least explained quite a good deal. Everything from the connection they shared, to how Potter managed to survive being struck by the killing curse a second time. It made sense that he somehow used a separate fraction of soul belonging to someone else to take the hit for him. Truly it was fascinating, and Voldemort would love to know more about the possibilities. He would even go so far as to applaud his nemesis if it hadn't culminated in his defeat here and now.

But as it was, he had to keep up the ruse of being truly defeated. Harry Potter destroyed all of his horcruxes, that was true. He didn't miss a single one when he listed them off, even being so kind as to inform him of one that until now he was unaware of.

What Harry didn't know, _couldn't_ know, was that creating horcruxes wasn't Voldemort's first method of obtaining immortality.

Voldemort recalled what felt like a lifetime ago, when he first discovered the Chamber of Secrets when he was a student at Hogwarts, he found Salazar Slytherin's private study. The entrance of which was down one of the many side tunnels that led to different places throughout the castle.

There was no hesitation whatsoever to take advantage of this incredible blessing. The wealth of ancient knowledge intoxicating in its promises.

In his greed, the teen who was even younger than Harry at the time, committed every single book, sentence, and letter to memory before destroying it all and sealing the room from anyone else ever being able to enter.

To a young Tom Riddle, it was his right as the heir of Slytherin to do with it as he pleased. And his wish was that none but him can know the things he learned there. Besides, he was the first to find it in a thousand years, he highly doubted anyone else would have come across it in another thousand.

Dumbledore assumed that Voldemort had traveled the world looking for exotic and esoteric dark arts, and while true, all of the really good ones had already been in his possession, safe inside his head, before he even graduated.

The very first thing he did was complete what appeared to be Slytherin's final project before he was ousted from Hogwarts. It took a truly maddening amount of arithmancy to get it right, and as much as he detested it, he had to dip into muggle mathematics, something he would _never_ admit to.

But eventually, he succeeded. He and he alone cracked the secret to a brand of immortality that is staggering in its implications.

True reincarnation.

The ability to embed his memories and power into his very soul, and to retain a semblance of consciousness in order to merge with a blank slate human, one yet to be born. A second chance to live again, indeed, to indefinitely be reborn over and over again.

And yes, the parallels between him and Dumbledore's phoenix weren't lost on him.

It was actually because of all this practice and his deep understanding that he was able to give his first horcrux, his diary, an imprint of who he was at the time. An experiment to prove to himself it worked.

So, safe in his knowledge that he will be born again, he keeps his face carefully blank in the light of Harry's revelation. After all, it would be exceptionally bad if he were to gloat that this wasn't really the end of him. While he was sure they wouldn't assume he would reincarnate and scour the globe to keep killing him while he was a defenseless infant, it was still a possibility. And the fading Dark Lord didn't want to give them the chance to know that he will eventually return to get his revenge.

Even if it's a few decades from now, they'll never see him coming.

It wasn't long before the greatest Dark Lord of the century (history) passed on to his own next great adventure. Never realizing until it was far past the point of no return that the world he left wasn't the only one across multiple dimensions with an uncountable number of variances. And while his math for the True Reincarnation ritual was good, he left certain parts of it… open for lack of a better term, not understanding of the consequences.

* * *

The afterlife, or maybe it was purgatory, was a very strange place. Perhaps it was because mortals weren't meant to comprehend it?

Because of this, Voldemort wasn't sure how long he'd been… floating? Drifting?

All around him was a vast darkness, but before he could focus on that, dozens, hundreds, or was it thousands of lights flickered in and out drawing his attention irresistibly like a moth to a flame.

Voldemort didn't like that particular analogy in this instance but it was so hard to keep his mind focused. He was sure the only reason he managed this much was because of his occlumency.

No, that wasn't it. There was a… ritual? Yes! A ritual that ingrained his memories on his soul so he could remember everything.

The sludge that it felt like his mind was moving through in order to think in a place that he shouldn't be able to understand was starting to clear up. His goal was clear now. He needed to get out of here and get started on his next life.

Was that what all of these lights were? New life? From what he could observe, the lights came in all kinds of sizes, though it was difficult to judge just how large or small with no frame of reference other than neighboring lights.

He drifted near a few of them, but not so close that he 'touched' them to see if he could get a feel for the differences.

How long and how far had he gone in this place?

After awhile, Voldemort felt he had a decent grasp of the situation, or at least as deep an understanding as he could from what he'd 'seen'.

The brighter and larger the lights were, the more potential and greatness he felt from them. He wasn't really sure how he came to understand it like that other than a 'feeling'. But that's what he got out of it.

Maybe those larger ones would be born with more advantages? Or, perhaps they were simply destined for greater things. It's equally likely that his sense of perception in this place is skewed and all of the lights grow to the same point of development before finally winking out with a sudden flash and being 'born'.

Now he was getting frustrated. He had a feeling he was at least on to something and wasn't completely wrong, but at the same time he somehow _knew_ he wasn't fully understanding it.

One interesting thing of note was how some of them seemed to repel him, while others attracted him like a magnet. Neither enough to truly force him away or pull him in if he didn't want to, but it was very noticeable.

His best guess was that this attraction or repulsion was in response to his compatibility?

With a sudden clarity, he recalled a portion of the ritual that led him here. He was insistent that in his next life he could retain the use of his magic as well! That must be the pull that he gets towards certain new souls. Compatibility indeed.

All of this was a first for the Dark Lord, so with a metaphysical shrug of his incorporeal shoulders, he decided to hurry up and make a choice.

After all, the worst case is that he dies quickly and ends up right back here to do this all over again. He'd rather not but if it happens it happens.

With his course set, he wills himself to drift along and cast his senses out for any exceptional pull. He feels a tug and follows it for what feels like quite a distance before coming upon a light that seemed to be beckoning him.

On his arrival though, he sees something different. Against the light that was tugging him, there was something else also moving towards it. He could just make out a shape as he got closer to the light, and when it became clearer it looked familiar. Voldemort wracked his brain trying to think of what this new thing reminded him of when it finally clicked.

It was a ghost or a spirit, just like him!

'Son of a BITCH! There are others that can reincarnate!… And it's moving in on MY new life!' He thought to himself, currently lacking the physical ability to say so out loud.

Seeing this, he sped up even faster. He bit back a curse as consistent and relative distance seemed to really be more of a guideline than a rule in this place.

Soon, he overtook the other being on their route and as he passed it by, Voldemort felt he worried over nothing. This other soul that was looking to transmigrate to a new life didn't seem to be aware of itself or its surroundings. In fact it almost felt like it was 'sleeping' in this place and just letting the pull take it to its destination.

Voldemort felt a smug sense of satisfaction at that. Now knowing that there were people who's spirit was powerful enough to live again, but _he_ was above even them. It appeared so far that only he was great enough to be awake and aware in this place and choose for himself his own destiny.

The-Soon-To-Be-Reborn Dark Lord nearly laughed madly as he had another realization just before he made contact with the light. He had to undergo that very specific, and exacting ritual to keep his mind and memories intact forever. So even if other souls are reborn, they'd likely only get the barest glimpses into their past lives, if that. The only thing these other transmigrants would ever pass on is a predisposition to a few personality traits at best.

He let the warmth of the light wash over him as he merged with it, ready to live again. And do things right this time.

Having awareness of being born was… an experience. That was all the description he was willing to attribute to it at the moment.

He was only peripherally aware of his time in the womb of his new mother; knowing that his brain was developing as necessary to accommodate his past life's wealth of knowledge. It was almost, but not quite as weird as that place he will from now on refer to as purgatory for lack of a more accurate term.

Voldemort reveled in having senses again like touch, hearing, and the passage of time.

Although his sight was blurry and the voices he could hear came as more of a muffled reverberation around him. He'd forgotten human babies take awhile to fully develop things like their basic senses… and fine motor control.

The newly reborn Dark Lord was about to use a simple trick of channeling a small amount of magic into his eyes and ears in order to temporarily reinforce them when he immediately ran into problems.

His magic was still there, that much he was sure of. But it felt… different. What used to be a warm sensation that suffused every fiber of his being in a consistent thrum of barely restrained power wrapping him in an intangible cocoon now felt like a light warmth just below his skin.

But more than that was the other feeling within him. A more physical source of power was intermingling and mixing with his magic.

Right away he felt it contract and expand, all the while traveling throughout his body like blood in his veins in time to the beat of his heart when he focused on it. Almost like a second circulatory system deeply entwined with his own.

While not necessarily a bad thing, assuming it might be some family bloodline magic he was unaware of, it was an unforeseen impediment to his current status. Being a newborn with an added something he didn't expect meant that he couldn't just recklessly jump right in to assuming everything would work the way it was supposed to. He was the Heir of Slytherin, not Gryffindor.

There was nothing for it. He would have to take things slow and gentle at first. Getting a feel for how these new changes will effect him.

As much as he hated it, Voldemort resigned himself to being vulnerable and dependent on his parents for the time being until he could experiment more with his new self and get a handle on this mysterious extra system that he seemed to be born with.

And so he turned his attention towards everything he could take in. Listening to the voices talking around him while being gently held led him to believe he may have been reborn in Japan. While he couldn't make out all of the words that were being spoken, he understood enough.

He'd learned many languages during his travels from his previous life. By 'learn' he really meant abused legilimency for all it was worth, ripping it right out of the minds of locals. Voldemort eventually got good enough that they didn't even get a headache, a far cry from the first person he left a drooling vegetable. In his opinion, it was much more useful, and permanent, than using the translation charm. It was certainly earning its value even after all this time.

Voldemort learned the name they gave him was Sasuke Uchiha from his mother who repeated it to him while smiling at him. At least he assumed she was smiling, she sounded happy. That would also take some getting used to. Having a mother in his life that loved him; as well as needing to answer to a new name for the foreseeable future.

The part that frustrated him, more than what happened to lead him to being here and now, was that the dialect that was being spoken was _just_ different enough that certain words being thrown around went over his head.

While he may not have known what 'Sharingan' was, he certainly caught something about him having a severe chakra imbalance and having an overabundance of 'Yin Chakra'.

This last part did concern him though. Was he born in some backwoods magical community that still thought magic was 'Chakra'?

Either way it was disappointing that he could only clearly decipher two out of three words of any given sentence at the moment.

It wasn't much longer before he surrendered himself to sleep, it had been a trying time for the Dark Lord. He could always find out more about his new life later, much later. In fact, a few solid days of sleep sounded pretty good to him at the moment.

The last thought he had as he closed his eyes was about how he assumed he was practically on the other side of the world to Briton. The Dark Lord chose to look at it as a positive. Time and distance would surely give him all the opportunities he needed to build himself back up so he could take his revenge. Either way, he might as well spend these first few years relaxing until he grew up a little. Couldn't do much of anything until then.

In the next few weeks, however, he would begin to become suspicious as to the possibility of being in another world as he had more questions than answers piling up around him. From a distinct lack of wands, to the incredible displays of abilities being used in the open like they were an everyday occurrence. All the way down to the prevalence of certain modern technology, yet a disturbing lack of others that were common in the muggle world such as cars and guns.

That outlandish theory was sadly the front runner to explain these impossible contradictions to Voldemort's common sense.

It would only be a few months later that those suspicions would be confirmed beyond the shadow of a doubt when a massive amount of dread washed over the entire village heralding the arrival of a truly gigantic fox appearing in the village; towering over buildings with nine waving tails wreaking destruction with effortless ease.

Voldemort's first words in his second life would have been expletives if his mouth was capable of articulating them at this point.

 **AN: And this is the first chapter of a story that's been on my to do list since I started writing. This was inspired in part by 'A New World To Conquer' by LordOfTheGrey. I felt there just weren't enough stories where Voldemort is the main character and ends up in another universe. The first time I read something like that I thought it was amazing and wondered why more people didn't do this.**

" **But Dio?" You ask. "You're a writer. Why don't you write it?"**

 **Fine then! I'll just do it!**

 **Some of you** **who PM me** **I already t** **old** **, but for those who didn't know, I have a reading addiction.** **I got into a new fandom and before I knew it,** **BAM! A whole month… gone.**

 **I'** **ve only got a rough idea for this one and am winging it, just having fun really. Because of that I'll ask you readers what you might like to see. It will likely be a harem with eventual lemons. I'm not opposed to gender bending if there is an overwhelming response for fem!Itachi or fem!Naruto.**

 **Now I'm back and I'm on a roll. Look forward to more updates and, as always, I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading!**


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